


Not a King, Not a Queen.

by emstrange



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Affection, Arranged Marriage, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Kings and Queens, Loss of Virginity, Love, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Terrible Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emstrange/pseuds/emstrange
Summary: Newly crowned King Eomer needs a bride...but how can he look for a Queen when he doesn't know what it means to be a King in the first place?Maybe what he needs isn't what he's being told to look for.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Original Female Character(s), Éomer Éadig/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be taking information from the books, movies and other fantasy genres.  
> Mixing up the age old story of a King being made to find a Queen! 
> 
> Warnings: None.

King Eomer of Rohan sits in his study looking at the stack of paperwork adorning his desk. Papers needing to be read, signed, sealed or sent have only increased since his coronation many months ago, causing the newly crowned King to sigh in despair.

He does his best to not muss his neatly brushed hair while attempting to fiddle with the ties of his formal cloak. The armour he wears is new and stiff, leaving him hardly any room to move freely. Said armour is purely for show, not for battle. Something the young king is highly unaccustomed to.

A knock at the door pulls Eomer from his fussing.

“Enter” he calls, groaning when Eowyn bursts into the room.

She stops suddenly, the smile dropping from face.

“A fine greeting from the King to his only sister.” Eowyn remarks but can’t help smirk at the mess her brother has made of his outfit. Without hesitation she makes her way round the grand, wooden desk to fix Eomer’s cloak.

“Apologies sister,” Eomer whispers with a sigh, “I just hoped if I stayed hidden for long enough, today might pass without me.”

“Sadly not my lord. All parties have arrived and been seated in the great hall to await their host. A host who is now ready.” After untangling her brother, Eowyn takes a step back to allow him to stand and stretch to the best of his ability in his fancy clothes.

“This armour is so restrictive. How did our uncle cope!” Eomer groans, causing his sister to laugh.

“With as much grumpiness as you’re displaying now.” Eowyn says with a shake of her head as Aldor, the Kings advisor, pokes his round the study door. Before Grima had slithered his way into their uncle’s court, Aldor had been Theoden’s most trusted counsellor and friend. Even nearing 60 it had taken minimal persuasion to have him return to the fold, helping the new and unprepared Eomer lead the land as his uncle once did.

“My lord, my lady, we really should be making our way to the hall. It isn’t polite to keep everyone waiting after such long journeys.” Aldor gently advises and leaves with a slight nod of his head.

Eowyn turns to Eomer who looks as if he may vomit there and then.

She places a gentle hand on his arm, “It will be fine brother, I promise. You’re finding a bride, not a hangman. Try to have an open mind.”

“Easy for you to say Eowyn. You married for love, not political gain.” Eomer states grimly as they make their way out of the room, his hand holding onto his sheathed sword for dear life. Hoping it can give him the courage he so desperately needs.

“Remember my lord, your uncle found advancement for Rohan _and_ love when he married. It isn’t always one or the other.” Aldor jumps in while trailing behind the king, “However Rohan must come first.”

When they reach the large doors of the great hall, Eowyn turns to her brother and holds his face in one of her small hands.

“I hope you…I _want_ you to know…that I’m aware of all you’ve given up…all you’ve _had_ to give up…I just…” Eomer watches as his sister struggles to find the right words, placing his gloved hand over hers on his cheek.

“I love my people Eowyn and I love my country…I just wish…” Before Eomer can finish, one of the servants interrupts them by leaving the hall with an empty tray. She flusters and curtsies quickly when coming face to face with her king. Eomer simply smiles and nods, sending her on her way to the kitchen.

Eomer squeezes Eowyn’s hand and allows her to enter the hall but not before receiving a sympathetic smile.

He swallows around the lump in his throat and turns to Aldor, asking, “How many families are here today?”

Aldor checks his ledger, even though Eomer knows he has the list memorised.

“25 noble families with 82 eligible daughters between them.” He reports and gives his king a small bow before entering the hall.

Eomer closes his eyes and grips the hilt of his sword tighter as he hears himself being announced to the court.

………………………………………

An immense number of hours later, Eomer has still only spoken to around half of the noblemen and danced with as many of their daughters. The dances are the only time for the young ladies to converse with the unattached king and are under strict instruction to relay every detail possible to ensure his interest quickly.

For the first 18 ladies, Eomer had been very proud of his ability to remember their names and any distinctive titbits of information that set them apart from one another. However, as time went on, these rare pieces of differing qualities became less and less. By the 40th dance, Eomer had lost count of how many liked to sing, paint, play music or cook.

It also became painfully obvious that in an attempt to seem like an ideal match, many of the ladies had been told to discuss their love and devotion to horses and riding. A few even sported obvious bruising of their parents attempts to have them practice riding without a side saddle for today’s events.

Eomer knew it wasn’t their faults. Like them, Eowyn had been forced to learn all the “womanly” arts to one day serve her husband and keep a home but unlike them, Eowyn had always outwardly shown her distain for it. Not that he expected these ladies to rebel as she once had, but he could not imagine being wed for life to someone so easily pulled along by what is ‘regal’ and ‘proper’.

He may be king now, but Eomer at heart is a warrior. His love for his horse and open space wildly outweighs his want of expensive clothes and fine dining. Give him a night under the stars with his company of riders, eating squirrel and breathing the air of the Riddermark and he’d be far happier and at peace then he is right now.

Eomer had just finished his 41st dance with a pretty brunette from Gondor when he realised, he’d not been listening to a word she had said. After bowing and before another lady could be ushered his way, he made a beeline for his sister and Faramir who stood speaking with someone he didn’t know and had no intention of asking about. His brother-in-law gently took his wives elbow and turned her towards her incoming brother.

“Apologies for the interruption.” Eomer says coolly with a nod of his head, “May I borrow my sister for a moment?”

The woman gently curtsies and smiles, flustered by the kings sudden appearance.

“Of course my lord.” she says, “But may I say my daughter Malbeth very much enjoyed her dance this evening.”

“As did I my lady.” Eomer replies charmingly and takes his sisters arm, pulling her from the hall into the quiet corridor.

“Which one was Malbeth?” Eowyn asks with genuine amusement in her voice and actually snorts when Eomer answers with a quick and quiet, “No clue.”

When they reach the end of the long passage, Eomer stops and turns to his younger sibling.

“I need…I need a break, Eowyn.” He almost shouts but is able to keep his frustrations under control. Barely. “This is madness. Utter madness.”

Eowyn stops laughing and smiles reassuringly at her brother.

“Why don’t you step out for some fresh air. I’ll alert Aldor and…” She starts to say gently but at the mention of his very protocol orientated advisor, Eomer bristles.

“Better yet!” he interrupts, “Why don’t you have him choose a bride for me and I’ll just turn up on the damn day to say I do.”

Eowyn doesn’t bat an eyelid at her brother’s outburst, only squeezes his arm and waits for his breathing to calm down.

“Brother, go take some time. They won’t like it, but you are the king. They will wait. Just…don’t take too long. I think I can buy you half an hour of downtime with the right kind of schmoozing.” She says with a smirk when Eomer lifts his head to look her in the eye.

“Thank you, sister. What will I do when you return to Gondor?” He says with a sad sigh.

“Think not on that now. Go take some air. Maybe see Firefoot. He always calms you.” Eowyn says before leaving her brother alone in the quiet.

Eomer makes his way quickly to the stables, not stopping to nod to any that bow to him. In the back of his mind, he’s already planning his apology to the staff of Meduseld for his sullen behaviour this evening. He’s never been one to take royal privileges or treat any of his people unkindly but tonight has been too long already. Too stressful.

When he arrives at his horses’ stall, he feels as though he can finally let out the long breath he’s been holding since before leaving his study. His cloak billows in the breeze, alerting Firefoot to his master’s arrival. The horse snorts and whinnies for attention as he bows his head.

“Hello my friend.” Eomer whispers while placing his head to his horses and closes his eyes, enjoying the quiet sounds of the stables.

For a few moments all is calm.

Until a clatter behind Eomer makes him jump and pull his sword on instinct.

He spins around and faces a small, young woman surrounded by fallen horse tack. The obvious source of the startling noise.

Eomer lets out a large sigh as the woman, barely containing a smirk, raises her hands in mock surrender.

“Apologies my lord.” She says, biting her lips in an obvious attempt at keeping her laughter at bay. As Eomer puts his sword away, the woman lowers are hands and gestures to Firefoot.

“It’s like he knows he’s in the presence of royalty….oh, um,” the young woman curtsies as an afterthought, “my lord.”

Eomer takes in her appearance as he brushes off her lack of royal etiquette, letting her know she can relax. The clothes she wears are formal, clearly noble, but not a ballgown like the other ladies are wearing. She has long dark leggings on and a nice, simple day dress. A deep maroon. Her hair is plaited and tied into a smart bun while her make up is minimal. She’s rather short, only coming up to his chest.

She’s pretty, he thinks to himself, if not on the plainer side of beautiful. He mentally scolds himself for thinking of this young woman’s appearance before even knowing her name.

“Apologies for startling you my lord, I was visiting with the horses and didn’t want to disturb your peace. Clearly, I did not succeed in my mission.” Eomer smiles a genuine smile as she rings her hands, looking down at the ground out of, what he assumes, is embarrassment, “However now I have been discovered, I will leave you with your friend.”

She smiles and gestures to Firefoot who, still eager for attention, nuzzles his master. Before she can move to leave the stables however, Eomer stops her.

“Your name my lady?” He quickly asks, intrigued. She is certainly not a servant from his or any other household.

The woman turns back to Eomer and bows her head gently, “Lady Emilie Dahle of Lossoth, my lord.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None
> 
> Translation: Ilúvatar - Sky Father (God)

“Lady Emilie Dahle of Lossoth, my lord.” She says confidently and bows her head towards the king.

“Lossoth? You’re from the North?” Eomer asks and mentally scolds himself for sounding so surprised. He hopes it hadn’t come across in his voice but when the young woman laughs, he knows that it did. Being staggered probably isn’t very kingly, he thinks.

“Yes, my lord.” Emilie smirks and moves to disentangle herself from the fallen tack, “I’m aware my family has not been in this part of the world for some time.”

She thanks Eomer when he holds out his hand, helping her to balance while she frees her foot from some rope. He then watches, mouth agape, when she begins to pick everything back up that had fallen around her.

“Oh, um, my lady do not worry yourself.” Eomer signals to someone behind her head, “One of our stable hands will put it right.”

From behind her a young boy, around 10 years old, appears and bows. Instantly claiming the task of tidying up. Emilie looks to Eomer and then touches the boy’s shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I made the mess after all.” She smiles at him and the young boy whispers into her ear, making her smile broadly, “Ah I see…no you are quite right...better to let you finish.”

Emilie hands the rope she is holding to the stable hand and follows Eomer outside. She waves to the boy who smiles sweetly in return.

Eomer watches the interaction with interest before moving to drink from a wooden ladle dumped into a bucket of water. After wiping his mouth on the back of his glove, he turns back to Emilie.

“May I ask what he whispered to you my lady?” He says and sits down on a bench over looking some of the grazing horses. He gestures for Emilie to sit and she, reluctantly he notices, joins him.

“You may ask, my lord.” She says, avoiding his eye and giving the distinct impression that she does not want to share said information.

“And would you not tell me?” Eomer asks, confused by her sudden drop in mood.

“As this is my first time meeting you my lord, I am unaware of how you choose to rule your subjects. Particularly those of your staff…” He waits for her to continue and notices the uncomfortable fidget of her hands, “…I would hate to get anyone in trouble, especially a young boy, when he was only having a little fun. I won’t be the reason he ends up on the receiving end of that rope.”

For a moment Eomer is silent and sits once again with his mouth agape. Almost a full minute of quiet passes when suddenly, realisation dawns on him like a hammer to the chest, “My lady, are you implying I would…punish…possibly, _flog_ , a boy for being…well, a boy?”

Emilie glances up to try and judge Eomer’s expression without committing to full eye contact. Instantly she feels guilty of her assumptions when the look on his face is clearly one of great horror. She shakes her head and smiles softly.

“I apologise my lord…I have no right or really, any reason to come to such conclusions…I would just hate to be the cause of anyone’s strife. Especially that sweet little thing. I am very sorry.”

When Eomer recovers from her accusations he makes another mental note to find out what kind of rulers they have in the North. Clearly none deserving of their titles if they put this fear into their subjects. He then uses her distraction to really take in the woman in front of him; now she’s not covered in bridles and leather strips from the stable.

She’s clearly very kind and empathetic. To concern herself with the welfare of a child that has no connection to her isn’t really something he’s seen of most highborn women. His sister and Queen Arwen being two of the very few exceptions. Her hands are red where she’s rung them so hard and her bottom lip bitten and chewed out of worry. However, even with the obvious signs of discomfort, she is undoubtably brave. To challenge a king’s ruling or refuse his questions isn’t done by the fainthearted, especially when having no knowledge of how the king could react.

Eomer clears his throat.

“The boy is Folleth, or Folly when he’s being silly. Which since he’s only seen nine winters, is very often.” He manages to catch Emilie’s eye now she has turned towards him to listen. “His father works here, not him. However, Folleth helps out around the stables in exchange for riding lessons while his father works. He hopes to become a Rider of the Mark when he is of age. Very different to that of his brother, who prefers to garden and tend the fields like their father. Their mother passed not too long ago and Folleth has nightmares about losing the family he has left. Riding helps give him focus. Something to work towards. Keeps him out of trouble…mostly.”

Eomer finishes quickly, worrying that he may have gotten too carried away with his explanation. He wants her to know that he wouldn’t dream of hurting a child, no matter what has been said between them. He prides himself on knowing those who work for him, something his uncle always made clear was a necessity if one hopes to be a good leader. Unbeknownst to him however, Emilie is struggling to keep the large smile, which threatens to breach her face, from showing itself to her host.

She clears her throat softly and manages to let a very delicate one grace her features.

“He told me that he’d rather tidy up himself in case you tried to help me. Apparently when you do, everything is usually put in the wrong place and the men grumble for hours.” Emilie tells an amused Eomer as she bites her lip again, this time to contain her laughter.

“…..maybe I will have him flogged.” Eomer replies with as much fake stoicism as he can must before laughing and allowing a smile to break his poor acting. A rather lovely smile, Emilie notes to herself.

For a few seconds, the King of Rohan and Lady of Lossoth share hushed laughter before Eomer spots Aldor speaking with one of the older stable hands.

“For Ilúvatar’s sake, it has not been thirty minutes!” Eomer hisses and without thinking, grabs Emilie’s hand and, while crouching rather ungracefully, pulls her along quickly behind the stable buildings. He leads her for a few minutes before ducking into a secluded part of the castle gardens, stopping to check for anyone else before he realises that he is still holding her hand. And rather tightly at that. Eomer quickly let’s go and tries calm his racing heart.

“ _I_ must apologise this time my lady. I was in such a hurry to avoid my advisor that I pulled you into my escape plan.”

“No harm done my lord. Would…you rather if I left you to have some time alone? I imagine tonight’s festivities are…overwhelming.” Emilie says as delicately as she can. When Eomer’s head snaps to look at her, stunned at her bluntness, he sees her confidence fizzle out before his very eyes, “My apologies sir I overstepped. Please, I will leave you to your thoughts.”

Before she makes it even one step, Eomer gently pulls her to a stop by her wrist.

“How about we both agree that from now on, we are always sorry? So, when we feel we have insulted the other, the regret has already been expressed and we can save precious time.” He says softly and allows one corner of his mouth to flick up in a smirk, “You are correct. This evening has been…trying.”

Emilie smiles and nods her agreement. Letting go of her wrist, Eomer breathes deeply and lets out an almighty sigh. He motions towards a stone bench next to a water fountain and allows Emilie to take a seat first before joining her.

“As you were saying previously my lady, your family has not been part of our court for many, many years. Not since I was a boy.” Eomer begins, trying his best to find out what he really wants to know. Why now have they returned.

“Yes, well…I believe the…rift, shall we say, was between my father and the former king...” Emilie replies, trailing off for Eomer to make his own conclusion, which he does very quickly.

“So now my uncle is gone he found it safe to return to Rohan. I see.”

“I believe he was planning to send word of peace to you after your coronation but the invitation for the ball came first. I’m sure he will request a meeting with you tomorrow after some of the noble families leave.” Emilie carries on, hoping she isn’t making the situation between the two families anymore fraught with her honesty.

If he tries very hard, Eomer can remember the flags of Lossoth from his childhood. But those memories are very old and faded. He wasn’t privy to anything important back then and his heart clenches at the realisation that Theodred would know exactly how to broach this subject. His cousin, unlike him, had been preparing for the kinghood all his life and Eomer feels the horrible flame of inadequacy burn through him.

Sensing his discomfort, Emilie places a small hand on his arm, hoping to draw the young king’s attention away from whatever dark place he’s slipped into. She gives him a small, genuine smile. Eager to reassure him that this is the real world, here in this garden and not where the shadows of heart have taken him.

Eomer allows his attention to be drawn back to Emilie and the kindness of her voice.

“I’m so very sorry for your loss my lord. Losing loved ones…there is no greater pain. No larger sorrow.”

“You speak as someone who knows this first hand my lady.” Eomer responds, touching his large hand to her smaller one.

“My eldest brother. We lost him to fever last year. It still feels as though he walks with me sometimes. I try to cherish that feeling…I know not when it will fade…” Emilie wills the tears in her eyes not to fall but unfortunately her body does not comply. A stray tear drops down her cheek, only to be caught by Eomer’s finger before it falls.

“I hope you always feel him with you my lady.” He says quietly and Emilie smiles through her sorrow, squeezing his arm before withdrawing her hand. Closing her eyes to compose herself once more. When she opens them, Eomer has not moved from his position watching her.

“My lady…why are you not inside with your family? If not for our agreement, I’d ask for your forgiveness if incorrect, but you appear to be of marrying age.” He asks, knowing he treads the fine line of decent conversation with a woman he has only just met. Theodred would never be so brash and informal he thinks.

Emilie bristles slightly at the king’s question and returns her gaze to her hands which now lie gracefully in her lap, “I am of age, my lord.”

Before Eomer asks the next inevitable question, he stills himself. In his heart he fears the answer and that alone scares him more than facing an Orc army alone with only a spoon for protection. Why should her answer be something that scares him? He has only just met this woman. As he has many, many women tonight.

He gathers his courage and asks, “Are you already promised to another, my lady?”

The pause when Emilie looks at him is enough to threaten his heart to stop beating. His body only begins to take in breaths again when she answers with a quiet, “No my lord.”

Before Eomer can press the matter further, a loud cough sounds from behind him, causing Emilie to jump up from the bench.

Aldor rounds the large hedges of the secluded garden, much to Eomer’s chagrin.

“My lord is required back in the great hall.” He says with obvious annoyance and is not startled in the slightest when the king abruptly stands to face him with anger.

“Your king will return when he is ready. When he feels as though he won’t run someone through with his broadsword!” Eomer snaps at his advisor and as he turns to speak to Emilie, his stomach drops seeing that she has already left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're going to start getting to the good stuff next chapter. WOOP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: So in this world, as in the UK, 16 is the age of consent. Absolutely *nothing* happens with a 16 year old (my OC is in her 20s) but it is just mentioned that a 16 year old has attended the Ball, in the hope of becoming Queen. Eomer says 'hell no' to that.

Eomer bows and thanks another young lady as their dance finishes. A pretty blonde who had been more than pleasant enough company, but who also is, in his opinion, still far too young to marry. Let alone be queen. When returning to the hall with Aldor, the young king had explained to Eowyn of his meeting with Lady Emilie Dahle and if her not so subtle hand gestures mean anything, he can only assume that this next dance will be with her relative.

“Lady Relina Dahle of Lossoth my lord.” The young woman smiles and curtsies.

As they join hands to dance, Eomer glances over Relina’s shoulder to spot Eowyn in conversation with a family. She must sense she’s being watched as she looks at him very briefly and nods. Relina follows his eyeline and laughs.

“Ah yes, my mother has been very excited at the prospect of meeting your sister my lord.” She says, drawing his attention back to the dance.

“Well it seems they are fast friends.” Eomer responds with a charming smile, “Have you any other siblings with you tonight my lady?”

Lady Relina seems taken aback by the question and her pearly white smile falters for a moment. She stutters momentarily but the view of her teeth returns just as quickly.

“A sister, my lord. By marriage.” She responds coolly, “However let us use this time to discuss more pertinent things, shall we?”

For the next few minutes, Eomer does nothing but listen to his dance partner regale him with example after example about how she would fair as Queen of Rohan. Her exact intentions are not said, she being far too proper to be so blunt, but the reason for the discussion is lost on no one.

Eomer does his duty and smiles, uming and ahing when he should and laughing along with her stories. All the while he cannot stop comparing her to Lady Emilie. There are no physical or personal similarities between her and Relina. One would never guess they were from the same house. ‘By marriage’, Eomer thought to himself. That must mean either she or Emilie had married into the noble house by mother.

Unlike Lady Emilie, her sister seems far more prim and proper. Never once allowing her smile to falter or her hand to stray from its perfect position on his arm. Heaven forbid her hand slip further one way or another, Eomer muses to himself. She’s the perfect picture of her noble upbringing.

Before parting, Lady Relina rushes to finish her rehearsed speech, “My lord may I just say that a union between Lossoth and Rohan would be beneficial for both parties. Too long has Lossoth been missing from the table and the money we bring would go far in rebuilding what was lost in the war. Being so far north was profitable for us and all we’d like is our chance to share our wealth with Rohan. As Queen, I would make it my priority to see my new home flourish.”

And with a flawless curtsy, she’s gone.

Finally, after the last dance is had, Eomer bids his guests goodnight and makes a quick escape from the hall. When back in his quarters, in far more comfortable tunic and trousers, he considers ignoring the incessant knocking at his door. He even goes so far to consider if he can still jump out of his window without breaking a bone like he used to.

“Eomer, open the door…” Eowyn calls through to her brother, “…I know something about your Lady.”

Eowyn isn’t surprised when he abruptly opens his door and drags her into the room. He chooses to ignore the smug look on her face when he stands expectantly by the fireplace, his hands on his hips, “She isn’t _my_ Lady, Eowyn. I’m only interested as to why she wasn’t in the great hall this evening.”

Eomer rolls his eyes when Eowyn allows a snort to escape her nose and waits, begrudgingly, for her to stop laughing.

“Okay brother,” She says once she calms down, “but you fool no one. However, it is very late so I will put you out of your misery. Also, I have been asked to receive the names of the noble families you wish to stay here for the courting week.”

“One week,” Eomer grumbles, “absurd.”

Eowyn sits on the edge of her brothers’ bed and sighs sadly.

“I know…but I mean what I said yesterday Eomer. If you truly see no match, I will support you with the council. Yes, Rohan is in need of monetary help but a love match has always been preferred by our people, and I have to believe that is what will win out. We are not like the nobles of Gondor and their political matches.” Eowyn finishes with a grimace, “Please don’t tell Faramir I said that.”

Eomer pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache that has been threatening his mind for days. He collapses into a chair next to a small table and childishly pushes over a chess piece from the board in front of him.

“Thank you, sister.” He says quietly, his eyes staring intently at the fallen chess piece. Eowyn’s face suddenly breaks out into a large smile and she practically jumps from her position on the edge of the bed to join him at the table.

“So, Lady Emilie Dahle. It was strange. When you mentioned her, I had this overwhelming feeling that I knew her…that we’d met. So, before your dance with her sister, I went to uncles’ study…your study…” Eowyn begins to explain but stops a moment to remember her grief. Eomer gently squeezes her hand and she continues, “…and I looked through some old papers. Emilie’s father, Sir Forod Dahle used to visit Rohan regularly with his wife, daughter and two sons. He was their council representative.”

“Why do I not remember this?” Eomer asks and Eowyn rolls her eyes.

“You never paid attention to anything you did not have to as a child. Too busy riding and fighting. I spent much time with uncle, as did Theodred.” She states rather harshly but softens when she notices her brother flinch at the mention of their cousin, “What I mean to say, is you do not remember because you were not expected to.”

Eomer nods, heart still hurting at the mention of the true heir of Rohan.

“Do you know why Lossoth were removed from the council?” He asks but Eowyn shakes her head.

“I do not. I believe the answers lie within uncles’ papers or at the very least, with Aldor. It’s something we can tackle another day. What I wanted to share with you this evening, is what I learnt from speaking with Lady Emilie’s family as you danced.”

“Did you learn why she did not dance like her sister?” Eomer asks hopefully.

“According to her step-mother, she chose not to do so.” Eowyn answers but by the look on her face, Eomer can tell she doesn’t believe the explanation, “I could not shake the feeling that her father wanted to say more. Faramir agrees. He seemed…angry. But I’m not sure at whom. He watched his wife for cues but also seemed rather uninterested in conversing with me. Something is not right there, brother.”

“So, perhaps…she did want to attend…but she was stopped?” Eomer says quietly, chancing a glance up to Eowyn who thankfully refrains from beaming a knowing smile.

“It is possible. Perhaps asking the Dahle family to stay for the courting week will shed some light.” She suggests gently.

Eomer sighs and pushes himself from his chair.

“Eowyn I cannot give one sister hope she has succeeded when I am merely using her as a way to speak with the other. No matter how…strange the situation may seem.”

“What if you asked many families to remain…then they will still be aware that the outcome is not set in stone. That or you march to their quarters and demand to speak with Lady Emilie but run the risk of alienating her even further.” Eowyn suggests sternly, knowing that sometimes what Eomer needs is tough love.

Eomer runs his hand through his, now messy, blonde hair and nods. Despite the glaringly obvious attempts these families are making at sculpting their daughters into prime queen material, he still doesn’t want to hurt anyone. The fact that these young women have been born and bred to be ‘perfect’ ladies and princesses isn’t their fault. He really does feel bad for them.

But he just can’t shake Emilie from his mind. All night he’s wondered what they may have talked about had they not been interrupted and pondered how it’s possible that he felt more at ease with her in a few minutes, then he has with anyone since before the war. When his uncle was mentioned, she acted as most do, she gave her condolences, but the emotion behind said condolence had almost floored him. She genuinely felt for him and was not scared to show it.

That was certainly not the mark of a ‘good’ noble lady, but that of a real person. A person who allowed herself to feel and be unguarded.

“I need to get to know her better…if she’ll allow it.” Eomer says after a few moments of silence. Resolute in his desire to learn more about her. He then walks over to the desk on the opposite wall and scribbles the names of some of the ladies he can remember from the evening.

“These are the names of the ladies that I feel I can make actual conversation with…should it be needed over this week.” Eomer says, cringing. He hates to deceive anyone, being raised to believe that honesty above all else is the true bond of a man and that lies can erode the soul when one is left to fester.

Swallowing down his unease, he hands the list of five names to Eowyn.

“This whole affair feels like I’m living in a cattle market…do you know that the youngest woman, scratch that, the youngest _girl_ here tonight is sixteen? Sixteen, Eowyn. Does the council truly expect me to marry and _bed_ a child…so that Rohan can profit from her dowry? Because I will not do it Eowyn.”

“Not even the council expects or wants that brother, even if sixteen does a woman make. Like I said, should you not find a bride this week we will find another way to help Rohan rebuild. I will not have you, or she for that matter, be bullied into a loveless marriage.” Eowyn kisses her brother on the cheek and mockingly curtsies, making him smile, before exiting the room.

As she shuts the door, Aldor approaches and holds out his hand.

“He has agreed.” Eowyn says, handing him the list, “But I remain unmoving on the matter Aldor. I and no one else can or will force him.”

“I understand my Lady, but we really must think of Rohan. We’ve lost almost half of our farms and more are deemed unsalvageable on a daily basis. My lady the people will starve without aid and Gondor alone cannot save us from it.” Aldor whispers in the corridor outside Eomer’s chambers. Eowyn frowns and nods. Excusing herself to retire for the evening.

Eomer stands with his forehead resting against the large wooden door in front of him, having heard the conversation from the other side. He gets into bed and makes himself comfortable for another night of tossing and turning with no respite of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I kind of imagine the North as it is in Game of Thrones. It's snowy basically all the time!

Emilie stands next to her horse Kivihiili, brushing his pitch black mane. The older black stallion snorts heavily from his nose and stamps his foot.

”I know, I know. You’d rather be out with that lovely thing we saw yesterday but you’re not a young man anymore!” Laughs Emilie. Kivihiili, unhappy with his owners’ tone, whinnies loudly and bumps her with his nose.

”I’m not sure I’d be happy either if someone were to keep me in on such a bright day.” Eomer says, appearing in the stable entrance. Emilie startles and drops the brush. Today she chose to wear her usual leggings and shorter cut tunic dress, as there was to be no royal affairs all day. The chosen families being given time to settle in for the week. The tunic falls just above the knee and is well fitted to her frame. It is the usual type of dress for common people of the north, usually kitted out with furs and thick knee-high snow boots when bracing the outdoors.

At this moment however she wishes she had worn something a bit…nicer.

Eomer saunters over to where the brush fell, bending down to pick it up. As he does, Eivihiili takes the opportunity to nip at his blonde locks.

”Kivi!” Emilie gasps, moving to detangle Eomer from the horse’s mouth, completely embarrassed by her horse’s actions. However, Eomer only chuckles as he straightens up and smooths down his wavy hair.

”Worry not. It isn’t the first time I’ve had my hair trimmed this way.” He smiles, handing the brush back to her, ”He’s just wary of the stranger that approaches his rider.”

”He’s always been a grumpy one...that has not changed with age.” Emilie laughs, shining Eomer a lovely, relaxed smile but he can see the moment that she remembers where she is and her face changes to that of rigid stoicism, ”Apologies, my lord.” She says, curtsying.

”I thought we had a deal?” Eomer says cheekily, hoping to draw out the person he spoke to the evening before. She simply nods and returns to brushing her horse’s mane, avoiding his eye and internally hoping he’ll leave. However, he does the opposite. She glances at him as he picks up another brush, tending to Kivi’s coat. After a few minutes of quietly working, Emilie can’t help herself.

”May I speak freely my lord?” She asks, returning her brush to its rightful place. Eomer does the same thing and helps Emilie as she begins to saddle Kivi. As he takes over, she takes a step back and bristles slightly at his insistence on doing the task himself. She crosses her arms and forgets for a moment that she even asked him a question.

”My lady?” Eomer asks as he tightens the straps, sensing wrongly that her silence is due to nerves.

”Oh, yes. I…I…you’re doing that wrong...” She says, distracted.

”Excuse me?” Eomer laughs, shocked by her accusation.

Emilie stomps over to him and begins to readjust the straps and ties, even lightly smacking his hand when he starts to fiddle with them again.

”My lady,” He laughs, ”I’ve had a lifetime of saddling and kitting horses. I...”

”...not this horse.” Emilie interrupts. Jumping to add a polite ”My lord” onto the end.

Eomer takes a step back himself and adopts Emilie’s previous pose of crossing his arms. However, unlike Emilie, his look is one of admiration. As he watches her work quickly and without bother, he finds his eyes drawn to her hands. They’re so much smaller than his and look far softer but unlike the noble ladies of the previous evening, they’re without jewellery and pampering. He begins to wonder what those hands would look like in his…or on the tanned skin of his arms…running through the pale hair on his chest…or the darker hair of his thighs…

While she adjusts and redoes his previous work, she rises high onto the tips of her toes, pulling the tunic higher on her thighs. Even completely covered, Eomer struggles not to watch her from behind as more of her legs are revealed. He takes another moment to imagine wrapping those legs around his waist as he…

It isn’t until Emilie clears her throat, that he realises she is finished and watching him. Readjusting her clothes. ”I did not mean to offend, my lord. Kivihiili just isn’t a fan of the usual saddling.”

”No offence taken my lady.” Eomer replies, smiling broadly and scolding himself for leering at her like he’s some randy teenager, ”May I ask what his name means?”

”Coal, my lord. It isn’t common to find a black stallion so far north and his colouring is very striking against the snow. From very young I could tell he was a hard worker and none are more hard working in the north than those who work to mine the ore. They’re strong and enduring. Like my Kivi.”

Eomer was taken aback.

Rohan takes great care in the naming of their horses, believing it important to capture the horse’s spirit and identity in what it will be called. It is paramount to find a fitting name and not just give one on a whim. Firefoot was a force to be reckoned with, even before birth. Then when he was born, early, he took off quicker than the stable hands could even fathom. The thought and care Emilie took to name her horse is certainly something Eomer respects…even finding it rather attractive.

”I am taking a ride into the Riddermark. Would you care to join me?” Eomer asks hopefully.

When he’d asked Eowyn earlier if she’d seen Emilie and her response was the stables, he’d had his squire saddle Firefoot just in case he could entice her into spending some time alone with him. But her stuttering tells him it’ll be a bit more difficult than he’d hoped.

”I...I’m not sure if...my lord...don’t you have...” She stutters and looks around, seemingly for an escape but Eomer takes a step forward and gently takes one of her small hands in his, crouching a bit to force her to meet his eye.

”My lady, I would very much like to speak with you outside of the castle grounds. Where I can show you the beauty of my land without...” As Eomer speaks, a stable hand walks past and greets the king with a bow before carrying on his way, ”...interruptions.”

”My, lord?” Comes a small but sure voice from behind him.

Eomer lets go of Emilie’s hand and turns around as Folleth approaches with Firefoot. He hands the reins to the king.

”Ah thank you, Folly.” Eomer whispers, ”Didn’t give you any trouble this time?”

”No sir...” Begins the young boy but pauses and rubs his behind, ”...well, not as much as last time.”

Emilie watches as the king ruffles Folleth’s hair. He then brings a finger to his own lips and makes a shushing noise, before sending him off. When he turns back to Emilie he happily notes that her smile has returned.

”My lady, I do not mean to...pressure you or...coerce you. Please feel no obligation to accompany me. But if I am to enjoy what little freedom I still have, I must leave now. Before my men realise, I have escaped without an escort.” Without another word, Eomer leads Firefoot outside and before she realises she’s doing it, Emilie follows with Kivihiili.

Suddenly they are racing in the wide-open space of Rohan, towards the area of the Riddermark that is not as populated as the rest. The vastness of the land certainly is freeing, Emilie thinks as she rides alongside Eomer. The wind whips her face and knots her hair as Kivihiili, just about, keeps up with Firefoot.

She’s not sure how long they ride for, but after a while they slow to a gentle trot and eventually stop all together by a small river that’s surrounded by large, overgrown trees. As Eomer dismounts, Emilie notices for the first time that he is actually wearing some light armour under his tunic and carries his sword with him.

”You can’t even see Meduseld from out here...will you not get in trouble?” She asks as she dismounts herself and stretches. She watches as Eomer kneels by the river’s edge and cups water in his hands, dragging it over his face and hair.

”Probably.” He laughs, ”Or, most definitely.”

He fills his canteen and hands it to Emilie before sitting in the grass, watching the horses graze. She settles next to him, reclining back and enjoying the sun on her face.

”Now, my lady. You asked if you could speak freely. May I ask what you intended to say before scolding me about how I saddle a horse?” Eomer says, entranced by the way the sun’s rays illuminate Emilie’s features. She closes her eyes and takes a big breath in before speaking.

”Well, my lord...” She begins but Eomer cuts her off.

”I feel that if we’re going to be speaking...freely...with one another, then you should use my name. Emilie.”

Emilie opens her eyes to see the king staring down at her. Smirking.

”Alright...Eomer...” She says, forcing herself to keep her face neutral, ”...what I was going to say...was...that I’m glad the ball was such a success.”

She must have been convincing in her answer because as quick as Eomer’s smirk had appeared, it falls. And seeing this causes Emilie to struggle while swallowing around the lump that has suddenly found its way into her throat. Was he disappointed that she wished him well? She sits up to face him but his eyes avoid hers. He just watches the ground with a pensive look on his handsome features.

”I just mean...you’ve narrowed the search...that, must be...helpful.”

Silence hangs between them for what feels like hours but in reality, could only be a couple of minutes. Emilie studies Eomer’s face and despite his brooding expression, she finds him entirely and irrevocably handsome. She even queries with herself for a moment as to whether there is a better word she can use…handsome just doesn’t seem to do the horse lord justice.

”Eomer...” She says quietly while reaching for his arm, hoping to break the tension. However, she jumps when he quickly shushes her. Grabbing his sword as he stands and looks toward the trees.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually quite proud of this one...comments are really appreciated. Let me know what you think :)
> 
> Warnings: None
> 
> Éored - Company of Horsemen  
> Béma - God/Deity

Éomer stands in front of the large, overgrown mass of trees with his sword Gúthwinë clutched tightly in his hand. He moves himself towards the edge of the little forest as the small rustle he heard grows closer and closer. His knuckles white on the hilt, Éomer’s mind screams at him to grab Emilie and take off on Firefoot before the threat can reach them. If he still prayed, he’d ask that the creature who stalks them is alone.

While he stands ready, Emilie quickly but with great care, stands and pulls an old dagger from her boot. She isn’t a soldier, couldn’t be further from it in fact, but her older brother Yanik had always placed great importance on teaching her self-defence. Even though Lossoth hadn’t fought in the Ring War, it was no stranger to conflict and her brother specifically had seen many battles.

After a long silent minute, Éomer raises Gúthwinë and readies to swing when suddenly a large stag crashes through the trees and skids to a halt in front of him. His eyes widen and the hold on his sword grows impossibly tighter. So tight Emilie worries he may break the skin of his knuckles.

Emilie watches the sweat that has gathered on Éomer’s forehead, slide down his face as he breathes rapidly. It’s as if he’s frozen in place. She puts her dagger away and creeps forward until she’s standing almost completely facing him. His eyes watch the stag but it’s clear his mind is far from Rohan. Where, she does not know. But despite that, she reaches out to gently touch his arm. Moving ever so slowly. Whispering his name ever so lightly.

At her delicate approach, Éomer releases the deep breath he’s been holding and slowly lowers his sword. After the war, when clearing out the hordes of Orcs from the Riddermark, he found it harder and harder to come back from the place in his head once the fighting stopped. A place where his cousin and uncle died. A place where he almost lost his sister. A place where he watched good man, after good man, go somewhere he could not bring them back from.

Focusing on Emilie, watching her hand smooth down his arm, it calms him. The gentle tone of her voice cuts through the screams while her smile shines a light in the dark. A beacon for him to follow.

He’s never quite sure how long it takes him to return to the present once in this state but right now it could only have taken a few minutes. A few minutes of hushed words and gentle caresses.

She moves to the side, drawing his attention to the creature in front of him which waits to see whether they are friend or foe. Éomer holds out a gentle hand to the majestic creature who gives him a sniff and while placing the blade into the ground, he shuffles forward to stroke the stags nose and whisper to it in Rohirric.

“Hello friend.” He says quietly and Emilie finds her eyes watering, deciding not to broach the subject of Éomer’s inner struggle. Instead, she focuses on the wonderful sight in front of her until she notices a bloody gash on the stag’s side.

“He’s hurt.” She whispers and backs off slowly to her saddle bag. Rummaging around, she finds the pot she needs very quickly and re-joins Éomer as he is now inspecting the wound himself.

“A graze from an arrow.” He says, “Probably a hunting party from one of the villages. It looks quite old though.”

Emilie crouches by the stag and takes a second to truly appreciate its grace and power, “Let us give him a chance. No reason he should have to die of infection and I’m certainly not in the mood for a hunt.”

Unbeknownst to Emilie, Éomer watches her take in their new friend and finds her amazement delightful. Her eyes widen as she strokes her fingertips down the short fur of the stag, feeling the strong muscles underneath. When she reaches the gash, she opens the pot and readies the paste in her hand before whispering, “This might sting just a bit. But I promise you’ll feel better.”

As she smooths the paste onto the wound, Éomer holds him steady. Not really wanting him to bolt and kick Emilie over or worse, actually kick her.

Once she is done, the pair stand back and watch as the stag sniffs the air. He glances between the two before taking off back into the trees, leaving them to gaze after him in awe. Even when the rustling stops, the two of them remain rooted in place.

Emilie is first to break the silence.

“Beautiful.” She whispers and smiles gleefully like a child on its birthday. She walks away from Eomer and over to the river, washing her hands as Éomer sheathes his sword. For a moment he considers bringing up his moment of confusion but can’t find the right words.

Instead he looks on as Emilie dries her hands on her skirt and puts the pot of medicine away. She doesn’t walk with the grace of a noble lady he notes, but seems to skip to an invisible tune. Clearly excited by today’s events. He only moves once she is settled on the bank of the river.

“What did you put on the wound?” Éomer asks while retrieving a sandwich from his saddle bag and moving to sit next to her again. Offering her half of the food. She accepts with an embarrassed smile and smooths back her unruly hair.

“I made it from some medicinal plants at home. We have some wonderous recipes which I hope to discuss with your healers and perhaps learn some new ones…I’d like to be a healer.” Emilie says, whispering the last part like it’s some secret for only Éomer to know.

“You say it as if it’s forbidden.” Éomer laughs and while chewing a bite of food, Emilie glances at him from behind her hair. He smiles cheekily at her and she finds it’s contagious.

“Well…it is not seen as proper. A lady concerning herself with death and disease is not a lady one will take as a wife.” Emilie says bitterly, mirroring her father’s voice. Even though she continues to smile, Éomer can tell the words hit deeply.

“As Master of the largest Éored in Middle Earth, I think having a healer as a wife would be rather beneficial.” Éomer responds but his face falls at the sympathetic look that suddenly graces Emilie’s lovely features.

“But you’re no long a Marshal, Éomer.” She whispers and looks to the bitten sandwich in her hand, picking off small crumbs and dropping them to the water, “You have…different responsibilities now…no matter how unfair that may be.”

Éomer tosses his half of the sandwich into the river, no longer having an appetite.

“I did not mean to upset or offend my lo…Éomer. I just mean…we have expectations to fulfil as lords and ladies…the reason I did not dance was to avoid this exact moment.” Emilie throws her food to join Éomer’s in the river, some lucky animal will take possession of it soon she thinks. Emilie stands abruptly and he’s quick to follow.

“What do you mean?” Éomer asks rather harshly and when she doesn’t turn to him, he tries again with a softer tact, “Emilie, why…I don’t understand what you mean. Please.”

Emilie stops on her way to Kivi, turning to face him. If her defensive stance hadn’t stopped Éomer in his tracks, her unshed tears would certainly have done it.

“I know you don’t remember me Éomer and that’s okay. We were children. Only children. But I remember you.” Emilie begins with a sad laugh that threatens to break his heart in two, “I remember the little boy of the Mark. So sad, so stern. So full of troubles at an age when all he should be doing is running through streams and fighting with wooden swords…but you were always happy with horses…”

Emilie slaps away the tears that fall down her cheeks like they’ve committed some heinous betrayal.

“I was scared…I’d only been expected to ride side saddle and only for a short time so while my father sat in council, I took my horse into an open space just outside Meduseld. Wanting to learn to ride properly…like one of the Riders. But I was terrified.” Emilie walks slowly towards Éomer, who has been stunned into silence. She gives a genuine laugh and seeks out his eyes, “Then came this older boy…very handsome I remember. Walking tall with much confidence…who _screamed_ at me for being so…what did he say? ‘Reckless and stupid’.”

“I didn’t…” Éomer whispers.

“Oh, you did.” Emilie smiles and stops in front of him, “After I’d stopped crying, I explained to this boy, who told me he would one day be the greatest Rider Rohan has ever seen, that all I wanted was to learn what I’d been told I couldn’t.”

“You sound like Eowyn.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.” Emilie laughs and lowers her head, only for Éomer to delicately lift her chin with gentle fingers. Letting them linger.

“So did this obnoxious yet, dashing, boy teach you?” He asks with a coy smile, one Emilie mirrors.

“I never said dashing! But yes, he did…he taught me and I’ve not been scared since…”

Éomer watches helplessly as Emilie’s face drops and she pulls away, walking to be next to Kivi, stroking his mane. Giving herself something to focus on.

“Éomer I didn’t dance last night because I knew if I did, I’d run the risk of falling for you all over again. Just like that silly girl did all those years ago…for the boy who acted like he carried the weight of the world on his small shoulders.” She says quietly and Éomer finds his heart lifted a bit by hope. Something he hasn’t felt in such a long time.

“Then allow me to show you what became of that boy. I do not remember the moment you speak of but something in me… _knows_ you.” He says, struggling around the words. Thankful, yet terrified, of where this conversation has taken them.

“You are a King, Éomer. A King. You need someone who…who has spent their life preparing for the role of Queen. That isn’t me.” Emilie watches as Éomer shakes his head and tips back his head. Growling his frustrations to the sky, “Maybe…maybe if you were still a Rider, a Marshal. But _King!?_ Éomer…I’m no queen.”

“And I’m no King! For Béma’s sake, I am a Rider of Rohan. Third Marshal of the Mark. I earned those titles and I earned them well. You think I want to sit day after day in council while men, who have never known hardship or battle or war, argue about trade agreements and, and diplomatic relations with people who look down their noses at us from afar!?” Éomer shouts to the air.

Emilie sighs at the man in front of her who’s baring his soul without restraint. She has no doubt that he’s kept this all buried deep inside himself for a long while now. Why did fate drop such a heavy role onto a man who was supposed to run free?

“The things you have no desire for, are the very things that you need a queen to help with.” Éomer bows and shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak. But Emilie beats him to it, “Éomer be fair, I have dreams I want to fulfil. Titles that I’ve also worked hard for. I want to learn and help people, not make tapestries and entertain pompous men who aren’t nearly as intelligent as I am.”

The two share a smile, breaking the tension

“Eomer I can’t be a queen anymore than you can stop being a king…part of me is happy that, even buried, you seem to remember our friendship…but…” Emilie stops when they hear the roar of some Éored approaching. She steps back and looks to the open space of the Riddermark, seeing Rohan’s banner flying high, albeit still a distance away.

“I do believe you’ve been rumbled, my lord.” Emilie says with a sad laugh and moves to the rivers edge, splashing her face with cold water and dabbing it with her sleeves. Éomer watches her silently, giving himself a moment to think. As Emilie works her fingers through her hair, creating elaborate braids and plaits, he experiences an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

Éomer approaches Emilie and turns her slowly to face him, “All I ask is to spend time with you. Show you that perhaps you needn’t choose between the life you want and a title. You don’t have to make a decision by the end of the week, but allow me this time to explore what we’re…feeling. All of this, it isn’t easy for me. But if you…”

“King Éomer!” A loud call interrupts him and his fist clenches out of frustration.

“Yes Gamling, I am here.” Éomer cries to the Captain who approaches slowly on his horse, “Apologies Éomer, the council grew restless when you did not attend the meeting today. They had the whole Éored threatened if we didn’t…”

“Worry not Gamling. Call back the riders and alert the council that I will be joining them shortly.” Éomer sighs, giving Gamling a nod as he leaves to call his men back with a blow of a horn.

Éomer rubs at his temple, his headache returning in stride.

“Your men call you by name and not title?” Emilie asks quietly from behind him, his back to her so she cannot see the small smile that tugs at his lips.

“Ah yes, well. I’ve known most of them my whole life. Some of whom are older and seen many a battle. I don’t intend on having them address me by title for as long as I can manage…even then they’ll only do it when in, how did you put it? ‘Pompous’ company.” He says turning to face her, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s finding enjoyment in her surprise.

Éomer looks over the effortless braids in Emilie’s hair and suddenly realises where his feeling of déjà vu comes from, “You used to wear your hair like that…when you visited Rohan.”

Emilie smiles softly as she makes her way over to Kivi and mounts him gracefully. She fiddles with the end of her main braid, looking out to the vast greenery of Rohan, before turning back to Éomer.

“Alright my lord,” She says looking down at him, “one week.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter...broke my heart writing it!
> 
> Warning: Some mention of body insecurities.

“What is the matter with you?” Emilie’s father hisses at her, grabbing her by the arm and practically dragging her to his suite. Her father had been reading in the library alone when she had approached him, explaining how she regretted not dancing in yesterdays ball.

He did not take it well.

Emilie stumbles as she is shoved into her father’s living space and tries to back away once confronted with her step-mother and step-sister.

“Forod, what ARE you doing!?” His wife, Lady Adlyn, yells when her husband growls at the servants to leave and slams the door behind them.

“Go on. Tell them…tell them what ridiculous ideas you’ve cooked up in that stupid little head of yours!” Forod snaps, gesturing wildly for Emilie to share her news. Emilie looks to her family and suddenly grows fearful. She has no rights to demand that she be considered for courting and she cannot say that the King himself asked for it, without explaining how they came to be alone on the outskirts of the Riddermark together in the first place.

“I…” She begins and feels humiliated tears prick her eyes.

“HA you want to be a QUEEN and cannot address your own family!?” Her father shouts, drawing gasps and gaped mouths from the others.

“You lie.” Relina whines, pointing an accusing finger at her step-sister, “You…YOU said you did not WANT to partake.”

“I didn’t,” Emilie pleads, feeling the tears drop from her eyes without warning, “but…I have changed my mind.”

Relina stands with her mouth as wide as possible and sensing a shrill cry coming their way, her mother stands to address the room.

“Alright, alright.” She breathes, “Relina my love, please go with your father. I would like to speak to Emilie alone.”

Relina storms past Emilie and on the way out her father shoots her an ice-cold glare. Emilie can hear her fathers coddling of his step-daughter as they walk down the corridor away from the suite. She stands in the middle of the room wringing her hands, as Lady Adlyn makes her way silently over to one of the large mirrors and pats at her crow’s feet.

“It is so hard having to be in the back. I know the feeling well.” She says in a gentle voice, gesturing for Emilie to sit and giving her a clean handkerchief to dab her eyes, “You have never met her, but I had a sister once. You remind me of her actually. Oh, she was pretty, some might say beautiful, but she just didn’t have that…spark, you know?”

Emilie isn’t sure what to do. Her step-mothers tone is warm and gentle…but she has been fooled before. Somehow, while using that very same voice, she had convinced a 14 year old Emilie to stay out of sight when her fathers friends attended for a celebratory dinner one Yuletide. Relina, her brothers, even some of the waiting staff spent all night dancing and singing…while Emilie stayed upstairs with her private maid Sarra. To this day, Emilie does not know why or how she allowed herself to be manipulated so.

“It is hard, feeling like the one who must shrink to allow others to grow…but this is our responsibility as ladies. As women. A King like Éomer ,” Adlyn scoffs, “he will need guidance, yes, but also that…spark. The spark which comes from so very few. My dear, you do not have such a spark.”

Emilie sits silently listening to her step-mother. She gently takes Emilie’s hand in hers and tilts her head to the mirror across the room, angled perfectly to show themselves in their entirety.

Adlyn is dressed in Lossoth’s finest. A long, embroidered gown with her immaculate hair brushed and pinned up to show off her long, elegant neck. Her make up is flawless, touched up routinely throughout the day by her army of ladies in waiting. In vast contrast, Emilie sits in clothes of the common people. A pair of dark leggings with scuffed riding boots and a dark tunic which frankly does nothing for her figure.

Her hair is messy, with many fly aways coming from her once neat braids, but despite that she is proud of it. She has her mother’s hair and for that she will always be thankful. Some of her happiest memories are that of her mother brushing her hair.

Relina takes after her own mother, making sure her make up is perfect and applied first thing in the morning and throughout the day, no matter what they are doing. Emilie wears minimal make up, usually just some blush to cut through the pale of her northern skin. She’s never felt the need to wear heavy make-up, her mother always pointing out how long and lush her eyelashes are even without mascara and her lips rosy without paint.

But…looking at herself now…through others eyes. Maybe she could use some extra help? Just to enhance…not to alter. Maybe to alter…

“Perhaps…with some make up and, and the right dress…” Emilie stammers, shying away from the mirror.

“But why put yourself through that? Lovely women telling you how much you need to apply to be beautiful, dressmakers telling you to lose weight…” With her last comment, Adlyn gently pinches Emilie’s thigh. She’d never thought of herself as overweight. In her mind she feels not so different than any lady she has seen around Meduseld, just shorter with a slightly fuller bust…but the women of Rohan are lean and tall. More like Relina. “…I’ll tell your father that you were right before. You do not need to put yourself through such scrutiny for a title and a king who thinks nothing more of you than a means to an end.”

Adlyn takes back her hand and stands abruptly, smoothing out her dress and sighing, “You’re making the right decision my dear.” And before anything more can be said, she has Emilie up and swept from the room. The door causing a draft it closes so quickly.

Emilie stands for a moment in the hallway outside of the suite. Confused and saddened by the interaction with her family. Not wanting to bother anyone further, she takes the quickest exit from the castle to the gardens before she lets herself cry. At least here her family can make no comments about her being too emotional.

Maybe she is being ridiculous thinking she could be a Queen. Éomer was probably being polite anyway…feeling bad for the girl who knew better than to dance for his hand…but he did remember how she wore her hair…

A small voice startles Emilie from her unkind thoughts.

“My lady?” A gentle voice calls from behind her and as Emilie turns, she’s mortified to see that she has interrupted Éowyn’s discussions with the gardener.

“Oh, my lady,” Emilie stutters and curtseys, “please forgive me. I did not see that the..”

Before Emilie can finish, Éowyn is on her feet and smoothing down her dress, holding a hand up to silence any further rambling. She mutters something to the gardener who then moves onto another row, leaving the two women practically alone.

“Please, do not worry. The gardens are supposed to enjoyed, although no one really comes to this small one anymore. People seem to forget it exists sadly.” Éowyn says with a sombre smile, gesturing to the same bench she occupied with Éomer the night before. When they are seated, Emilie clears her throat, hoping her face isn’t too red from her emotional outburst.

“Éomer …I mean, the king, showed me last night when…”

“When he made to escape the ball?” Éowyn finishes for her and the two laugh. For a moment the kings sister regards her with a strange look, squinting a bit as if in deep thought. Before Emilie can get too paranoid however, the look is gone. “May I ask why you were crying?” Éowyn asks gently.

“Oh, I…it’s silly…” Emilie stutters, flustered by the question and worries briefly of how much she should divulge. Then a thought comes to mind. What more does she have to lose? Straightening her back and wiping her tears, Emilie turns to Éowyn on the bench, “I told my family that I would like to speak with the King about the courting week. It…did not go well.”

Before a large smile can break out on the other woman’s face, Emilie continues.

“They think it best that my sister Relina should try for his hand. She is the more…suitable…candidate.” She finishes, not trying to hide the bitterness in her voice.

It is quiet but a moment before the sound of the garden is filled with the unbridled laughter of Rohan’s shieldmaiden.

“I’m sorry,” Éowyn laughs, trying to compose herself, “but your sister?”

Emilie nods, stunned.

“Oh they are no more compatible than me and an Orc…or Aldor!” She continues and makes a shiver in response to her own choice of words, “No. I will certainly not be having Regina as a sister.”

“Relina…” Emilie corrects and Éowyn just waves her hand dismissively. It takes a minute for her to calm down enough to continue the conversation and at this point Emilie already feels her mood lifting.

“Emilie, if I may call you Emilie? I remember you from our childhood. It pleases me to see you again…and if I may be so bold, it pleases my brother also.”

At her honesty, Emilie cannot help but blush.

“Thank you, my lady. I also remember our previous meetings.”

“Éowyn, please.” She says, taking Emilie’s hand, “Why not speak of your worries with my brother. He has already informed us of the decision he came to after his…escape earlier today. I feel you might need to leash him if you ever plan on keeping track of his whereabouts.”

The two women laugh and Emilie’s heart feels suddenly lighter.

“I could not tether him even if I wanted to. He deserves his moments in the sun. Lord knows he will have many in dark council rooms.” Emilie replies, looking to the beautiful clear sky. Unbeknownst to her, Éowyn is smiling more than she has done in a long time…except for when she is with Faramir of course. Her love keeps her endlessly happy.

“My brother mentioned you have fears surrounding your duties as queen and what that means for your own future…speak with him, and shall you still have those fears, we will discuss them ourselves. As women, we have many obligations…but none so important as the ones we have to ourselves.”

……………………………………………………………..

Many hours later, after a bath and a brief nap, Emilie emerges from her room feeling refreshed and dare she say, happy. Deciding that she should in fact attempt to be only herself with Éomer , she braided her hair the same way as earlier and only indulged in a light powder of make-up and blush. Wearing one of her simple but pretty day dresses, Emilie is on her way to find the King.

As she was leaving earlier, Éowyn made sure to tell her that the gardens were a beautiful place to explore come night-time…the 9th hour being the best. It took no more than a wink from the shieldmaiden for Emilie to understand and so now, with many minutes to spare, she makes her way leisurely to meet the King in what Emilie is happily referring to as ‘their spot’ in her mind.

“Oh, sister!” Relina shouts, albeit very daintily, and hurries to catch up with her. Before Emilie can say a word, the silence is filled for her.

“Where are you off to at this late hour sister?” She asks and links arms with Emilie. Leading her down a different corridor than the one she intended to take.

“Just for a late walk in the gardens,” Emilie says, trying to take note of the change in directions, “nothing of any excitement.”

“Oh, then thank goodness I caught you. Some poor excuse of a maid spilled water ALL over the stairs leading outside. A disaster. Such an oaf. I really will have to look at which staff should be replaced with ours from home…anyway, this corridor here will lead you to the gardens. I found the passage earlier today.” Relina says with a sickly smile and despite her own inner voice shouting at her that this was of course planned, Emilie is now far from the other exit and knows for a fact this does lead to the gardens.

The wrong gardens…but with some haste she should make it to the right one in time.

“Well, thank you…sister. You have saved me time and from a pair of waterlogged shoes.” Emilie says and receives a kiss on the cheek before Relina gracefully spins and sways away.

Emilie glances down the corridor.

No mouse traps, she thinks. No buckets of water placed precariously over doors. Not even horse dropping’s hidden underfoot. Perhaps all she had intended was to make her late for whatever she guessed was happening this evening.

With ease, Emilie merrily walks around the back corridors making her way to another exit. To do so, you have to walk past a very old part of the castle which very rarely gets any attention. As she grows closer to the exit, which resides around one last corner, she hears hushed voices. A man, certainly and then another with very feminine tones.

She makes it to the corner and very, very quietly cranes her neck to see who awaits her by the exit. Maybe some of the castle’s servants she thinks. Probably trying to get some peace and quiet during their nightly break!

However what Emilie sees is not a pair of poor overworked servants but their master, their king…with another one of the noble ladies from the ball.

Éomer stands tall as ever, his hands resting on the young ladies’ shoulders. A slip of a thing really, couldn’t be more than 18 years old, and she stands holding her hands to her chest. Covering her heart. The two are whispering, giggling together as his thumbs rub circles on her arms.

Bile rises in Emilie’s throat as she watches the girl wrap her lithe arms around the king’s middle and he in turn embraces her with a smile and a rub of her back. They still speak quietly to each other but Emilie can no longer bear to watch them. Instead, as quietly as she can, she runs back to her room.

Emilie shuts her door and sits on the edge of her bed in silence. A strange numbness overtaking her body. A knock breaks her from her stupor.

“Sister, did you change your mind about the gardens this evening?” Calls Relina from the other side.

Emilie clears her throat before answering.

“Ye, Yes, I’ve actually grown quite tired. I think I will turn in for the evening.”

“Oh, alright,” comes Relina’s insincere concern, “goodnight sister!”

And with that, Emilie was truly alone once more.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi all! Not a chapter but just a quick note to say I will be updating soon.  
Unfortunately I'm not well at the moment but haven't forgotten about these stories.

I hope some of you stick around! :)


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